


Tea Leaves, Rain Drops, and Paint

by Magikenz



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 13:42:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7804057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magikenz/pseuds/Magikenz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhysand and Feyre decided to get away from the Inner Circle for the weekend and have gone to the cabin. They were planning to be outside from dawn until dusk, but a sudden rainstorm forces them to be inside. </p><p>All of these characters belong to Sarah J Maas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea Leaves, Rain Drops, and Paint

"Stop whining," Feyre growled, squinting to look at the painting again.

"How can I not when I've been in this position for hours?" Rhysand frowned and stretched, his wings extending a little wider to release tension. He had been sitting like that for what felt like a century, carefully holding still while his mate painted him. He had a hard time saying no to her, especially since this weekend had been his idea. He'd promised her picnics outside, swimming in the rivers, and sunsets in the mountains. Away from the Inner Circle and the effort to rebuild Velaris. Outside the window, thunder boomed.

Feyre raised her eyebrows. "Hold. Still."

Rhys sighed and started to slide off the couch. His hair flopped back from his forehead and brushed the rug. "Let's do something."

She put her paint brush in the water cup and joined him on the couch, turning upside down to match him. Her hair pooled on the floor underneath her head, and Rhys reached out to touch it. She had let it grow out again after the war, and he loved to braid it into intricate braids.

"What are we going to do," Feyre asked. "It's storming and we broke the bed yesterday."

He raised his eyebrows comically, "We haven't broken the guest beds or the couch or the kitchen table."

"We are not soiling the table."

He rolled his eyes, "It'll clean itself."

She smirked, "Let's not and say we did."

"Cassian will see through it."

"It's a good thing that your boyfriend is perceptive."

He laughed, "He's not my boyfriend."

"Okay, then it's a bromance."

Rhys rolled his eyes and slid all the way off the couch, grabbing her arm and pulling her with him. He wrapped his arms and wings around her. "What shall we do?"

"Well, I'm hungry."

"Floor picnic?"

"Does that mean we can use the table later?"

Feyre snorted and pushed his wings away. "We'll see," she called over her shoulder.

He followed her into the kitchen. "Sandwiches?"

"Yes."

In a comfortable silence they made food for their floor picnic. Feyre found blankets and spread them on the living room floor, then decided that it would be better if they had a fort. She pushed chairs into place and carefully draped the blankets over the frame. She summoned flames with her pointer finger and lit tea candles in the growing darkness. Thunder rumbled and rattled the glass of the windows. Rhys joined her, smiling at her handy work. He manually lit the fire. They crawled into the fort.

Feyre bit into a sandwich and chewed slowly, her face full of mixed emotions. A cold feeling settled over the bond, and Rhys tugged on it to get her attention.

"What is it?"

She swallowed. "We lost so many."

His heart sunk, his stomach growing to match the temperature of the bond. Images of the war filled his head; rivers of blood, mutilated bodies, and unseeing eyes that had just been bright with life. Blinding displays of powerful magic and the sound of a deadly army approaching. He struggled to keep the pictures from flooding the bond.

He put his arm around her, and she rested her head on his chest, a few tears starting to fill her eyes. He knew that she was thinking of Lucien and Azriel. He grit his teeth, trying to force the memories away. Lucien chained to a wall, hanging by his thumbs and dying. Small, stout spears of ash wood protruding from his shoulders and sides to hold him still. The sound of him pleading with Feyre to go to Tamlin and convince him to stop fighting against Prythian while Rhysand kept watch. Azriel upside down with blood streaming down his chest, screaming as they burned him with hot iron. The way their frozen gaze had followed Rhys out of the dungeon, off the island, and to the House of Winds.

Clear images of the battlefields, of humans slaughtered next to Faeries followed those. Blue skinned water Fae next to brown skinned earth Fae, wailing for their lost families and friends. Children orphaned. Homes destroyed. All gone with one fell swoop of Hybern's magic. And there had been many.

He blinked and was suddenly back in the living room. Ferye's body was warm next to his. Too warm. "Careful, Feyre darling," he whispered.

She took a shaky breath, trying to stop the flames from erupting from her body. After a few seconds of quiet, she turned to him. Her face was wet with tears and flushed. "How are we going to recover?"

Rhys ran a hand through his hair. He lifted his thumb to wipe away her tears. "Slowly. You'll paint and I'll fly and we'll get through this."

Feyre frowned at nothing.

"I'll make us some tea?"

At her nod, he disappeared into the kitchen. He set the kettle over the flame and waited for it to boil. Somewhere in the house a clock chimed the hour, and he sighed as he looked out the window at the rain. The outside world was a melting oil painting; the trees dripped with water and the budding flowers were drowning. The kettle whistled and he poured two cups of steaming water. "Peach or Green?"

"Green," came the answer from the blanket den.

He rejoined her, handing her a steaming mug. She sipped, and made a face when she burned her tongue. "This is lousy tea," she said after a second.

His mouth popped open, "Tea is for the soul not the tongue."

She rolled her eyes, falling silent again. Her smirk faded.

Rhys scooted closer, "Feyre."

When she didn't answer, he carefully put his tea down and leaned to kiss her cheek. It was still damp. "Hey. We'll be okay."

"How do you know?"

"Because we rebuilt and recovered after the first Fae wars, and we recovered after Amarantha."

She pressed her lips together, not looking at him. "Can we?" She meant them mentally and emotionally, her and Rhys.

"We can."

She began to cry again, and he kissed her cheeks. One for every tear. Then he set her mug on the floor and pulled her into his arms, holding her while she shook. He did this at night too, when she woke up from nightmares. He held her hair while she was sick in the toilet and called for tea when she felt better.

"We can do this, you can do this."

She was still shaking hard, but she took a deep breath. "I'm going to finish painting you."

He groaned and she smiled tentatively.

"I love you," she whispered. Warmth began to thaw the bond.

"As you should."

She let out a barking laugh, "Prick."


End file.
